


lunge/sidestep

by OnyxSphinx



Series: ianyassen high seas au [2]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: M/M, also arguably canon typical usage of knives, arguably canon typical weird dynamics, hi yes i'm back on my bullshit (writing ianyassen), high seas au, this is actually kind of soft towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 01:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30031197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Yassen gets captured by Commodore Ian Rider, and makes the best of an otherwise undesirable situation
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Ian Rider
Series: ianyassen high seas au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209212
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	lunge/sidestep

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know i've written more than half the ianyassen content in the tag. i don't want to talk about it. (that's a lie i will literally never shut up about ian and yassen if you give me a chance to talk about them)

Yassen doesn't mean to get captured. He really doesn't; in fact, generally speaking, he's quite against getting captured, both as the principal of the matter and because, often, his captors aren't particularly inclined towards treating him well, and he quite prefers being treated decently.

However, the fact of the matter is that he is currently sitting, arms and legs bound to the chair, in a well-lit cabin.

"You know," he says, directing it to the man who is, at the moment, sitting, quite smugly, in the ornate chair behind the desk across from Yassen, "you could just let me go. Pretend this never happened."

Ian lets out a theatrical sigh. "I'd love to," he says, "and I'm really sorry I can't—" he doesn't sound sorry in the slightest, just incredibly self-satisfied—"but I'm afraid that Scorpia's last raid on the navy's ships a few months ago means that I cannot do so."

"A raid which I was not on the ship for," Yassen reminds him. "Unless you'd forgotten, I was dodging two of your henchmen whom you had assigned to track me during my brief break from active duty." That had been quite fun to deal with—Yassen had had to get quite creative to give them the slip.

The other man pins him with a flat, searing look. "We both know that you were in charge of planning it out," he says.  _ Point, _ Yassen has to concede. Though how the commodore found  _ that _ out, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll have to investigate the men. "Also," Ian says, sounding slightly cross, "Jack and Alex aren't my henchmen, which you know full well."

Yassen shrugs; a fluid motion of his shoulders which doubles as a way for him to discreetly begin to loosen the bindings around his wrists. "I can't help but notice the truth," he drawls. "It's not my fault you gave them the duties of a henchman."

Ian scowls. "Alex says that you dropped him into the river."

"Hardly my fault that I had to resort to such extreme measures," he says, coolly. "And your nephew should know better than to try and detain a member of Scorpia."

Ian snorts. "You're just upset that he managed to get one in on you," he observes, miming the motion of a blade raking across his shoulder. That, Yassen will privately admit, grudgingly, he is, somewhat. Alex is half his age—he shouldn't have been able to get a strike in at all. Yassen blames the damnable Rider luck—he must have inherited it from Hunter.

Finally getting somewhere with the bindings, Yassen keeps his voice even. "I see you have collected some new books since the last time you detained me." Hopefully that'll keep the man from noticing the subtle movements Yassen's wrists and hands are making beneath the overhang of the desk. "Though I am surprised to find that you procured an edition of Doctor Three's latest work."

Ian grimaces. "Best to know your enemy," he says. That, Yassen will concede, is a good practice. His left hand is finally loose, and he schools his expression into one of artfully unrevealing boredom.

"You know," he says, "you should really invest some time in making sure your men know how to tie knots properly." He's already snaking his way out of his bindings, reaching to grasp the twin blades hidden in the his boots. Ian doesn't even have the decency to look surprised as Yassen crosses the short distance between them, kneeling on the desk and holding one of the blades to the other's throat; pressing just hard enough to draw a small trickle of blood, the crimson running down Ian's neck and disappearing beneath his dark cravat.

"I assume you're going to make me relinquish my own weapons and release you," Ian says, his voice carrying just a touch of amusement. His eyes, blue, usually, like the shallow waters around a reef, are now dark as the sea during a winter storm.

Yassen jerks his head. "Yes," he says; leaving the threat unspoken. There's no need for it to be uttered, anyway—he has steel to the man's jugular, that's a message enough, in his opinion.

"Well," says Ian, as he divests himself of his sabre and pistol, as well as a few knives hidden on his person, "I'm afraid I  _ can't _ let you go—the longboats are currently being repaired and won't be functional for at least a few more days."

Yassen bites back a groan. He loathes his luck.

"Fine," he says, "then I will..."

Ian watches him; still annoyingly smug in a way a man with a blade to his throat has no right to be.  _ Then again, _ he reflects,  _ Ian Rider was always a little bit of a bastard. _ He remembers Hunter telling him so. At the time he hadn't believed the extent of it, but in the past few years, he's found that, if anything, the man had been understating the true extent of the issue.

He sighs. "Fine. You will provide me with accommodation aboard your vessel, and allow me to leave, unharmed, when you dock at the next port."

The commodore nods; his skin biting into the blade's edge; causing more blood to run down in a slightly wider rivulet. Yassen suspects that the man would have made a very good thespian had he not gone into the navy; he has a flair for the dramatics rivalled by few others Yassen's had the (mis)fortune to meet.

With a flick of his wrist, Yassen draws the knife away from Ian's throat and dismounts the desk; dropping back into the chair.

"Well," says Ian, tugging at his collar, "we'd best get that room sorted for you, eh?"

Ian gets him settled into his quarters—a small room with a writing desk and a narrow cot with white linens—not much later. They have to go down belowdecks to do access them, and the crew gives him wary looks as they pass them. Not unwarranted, to be fair; last time they saw Yassen he had bested their commanding officer and held him at sabre-point.

Yassen expects him to leave it at that and not turn up again until they dock; but later that evening, as the sun's going down, the  _ Endeavour _ making her way northwest according to the compass he finds tucked in the writing desk, there's a knock on his door.

He opens it to find Ian, dressed in his blue and gold uniform, his expression neutral, a plate of food in one hand and a box in the other—a chessboard, he realises, belatedly.

He frowns. "What brings you belowdecks, Commodore?" he questions.

The other gives him an easy smile; his expression betraying no sort of ulterior motive. "I realised you hadn't eaten," he explains. "I thought I'd bring you a meal, and offer you company."

"Can none of your men play chess?" Yassen says; but lets him in anyway; let him sit on the cot next to Yassen as he eats, his presence warm and unobtrusive. Yassen finds himself, against his will, relaxing. It's quite annoying. He clears his plate quickly before thrusting it onto the writing desk and turning to Ian and his chessboard. "Well," he says, "we should get this over with."

Ian raises a brow. "So eager to lose?" he says; voice teasing.

"You should be asking that of yourself," Yassen says, drily, and moves a pawn forward. He's playing black, but Ian doesn't protest the disregard of usual etiquette. He just watches Yassen move, and then hums, and moves his own knight. Yassen counters by dragging one of his bishops forward.

"You know," says Ian, moving his rook, "you could leave Scorpia's employ."

"What, and join up with the navy?" Yassen scorns.

Ian shrugs. "I had to offer," he says. "You'd do so well as an officer. I can see you rising through the ranks and becoming at the very least a formidable captain in your own right."

"I already fulfil the function of a captain often enough," Yassen points out, any parries Ian's attempted manoeuvre. "And I am compensated much better for it, without having to worry about inconsequential issues such as regulations. Or lashings."

"No, if you fail, you just get killed," Ian says; sardonic; lips quirked. Takes one of Yassen's pawns _. Perfect. _

Yassen moves his other bishop; forcing Ian's hand. The other man sighs. "Damn you," he says, "is there anything you're not excellent at?"

He shrugs. "I make it my job to be good at as many things as humanly possible,"

"Of course," Ian mutters. When he moves, it's resigned; and he reaches up to meet Yassen's gaze; his eyes dark once more. They've lit a few candles, and the light throws half his face into shadow. His dark hair looks almost black; the furrow in his brow more pronounced than usual.

Yassen reaches out and smooths it with his thumb. "Too much worry will have you greying early," he says.

"Oh, and whose fault is that?" Ian murmurs; but it's without bite. The chessboard lays, ignored. Yassen's fairly certain he was winning, but it doesn't much matter now that he has better things to occupy himself with. He lowers his hand to cup Ian's cheek.

The other's hand rises to cover his own; his palm calloused; and he says, quite plainly, "I think I'd rather like to kiss you."

Yassen smiles; just the tiniest lift of his lips; and presses his mouth against the other's.

When they pull apart, Ian admits, "I've missed doing that. It's been so long..." He trails off; both of them thinking about the last time they had occasion to indulge.

"Stay in the present," Yassen advises. "You will be happier."

"You're probably right," Ian says. "In that case, I should much like to kiss you again."

Yassen makes no protest; just strokes his thumb across the other's cheek and leans in once more.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
